part three of four of the heaven breaker series
"Our Father,” Odell began. “Who art in heaven.
“Hallowed be Thy name,” he continued, reciting the prayer that Mr. Morning had taught him. He spoke it word for word, as religiously as any priest might preach—
Until the end of the prayer, where he inserted his disobedience. A plea for forgiveness.
“And may your souls grant me pardon, Michael, Adriel, Daniel, Uriel, Gabriel…” Odell utters the names of all those he has killed, in the order of which he has killed them. Each one memorized and carved into his memory, spoken with more grief than the last. Proclaiming their names to the sky has never made their deaths easier to bear.
Nor did he want it to be easy. The business of killing angels should be cursed, and the punishment for it be rampant.
“And Sandalphon,” he finished. “Amen.”
Odell rested the angel’s head on the cold hard floor of the building rooftop. The angel’s wings fluttered one last time as the damp, somber sound of violin strings sang meekly with the blowing wind. Faintly receding into the night.
“Saying their names one by one won’t make them go easy on you, you know,” a sly voice said.
From the shadows stepped a youthful woman, with rich and messy gray hair, dressed in a dark suit. Its color was a deep-black reminiscent of the night. The heels of her leather shoes tapped nimbly on the floor as she walked. She took slow and gentle steps that seemed to calculate even the distance of strides.
“Stay back,” commanded Odell, but he knew the woman would not heed it. The woman would not heed at anything, he felt. Odell pulled his gun out. “This is a warning,” he bluffed, knowing full well that he hadn’t enough bullets for a warning shot.
The woman stopped, almost nonchalantly, and put her hands up in the air. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“What I… wanted? Who are you?” Odell demanded.
The woman curled her eyebrows and tilted her head, confused, before putting her arms down and walking towards Odell with an evident disregard for caution.
“I SAID STAY BACK!”
But before he could do anything, the woman waved her hand and Odell’s gun turned to dust. “Please,” she said. “Don’t make me laugh.”
Odell scampered. His hands flailed at where his gun was, grasping at nothing but air. He looked around desperately for his weapon, but it was gone. What is this trick?
The woman continued to walk. She walked with power, like no wall can stop her, no matter how carefree she might seem. Is this the one who Sandalphon regarded? thought Odell.
Odell hurried and found his golden dagger inside one of his pockets, drawing it. This was the perfect distance. He breathed deeply, concentrating his focus on the arm that held the blade.
Then he surged.
But when the dagger was mere inches away from the woman’s chest, she disappeared.
“That’s old gold you have there.” The voice came from behind him. He turned.
“Longinus’?” she asked, but before Odell could do anything, she grabbed his cheeks and pulled him down to her height. Eye-level. Her deep sea-blue eyes pierced into his.
“W-ho—” Odell struggled to speak with the woman’s grip tightly on his face, her nails stinging his skin. “—are y-ou?”
She stared at him still. “I must say, I am a tad bit offended.” She released her grip, and Odell fell back, clutching the parts of his face that’d now quickly turned red. “I just didn’t think anyone would do something so hellish without having me in mind.”
Odell regained his balance, his dagger safely and firmly set in his hand. It’s now or never.
“Really?” The woman snapped her fingers, and the dagger went to dust. Gone, just like that. “Sit,” said the woman. “And don’t be so tense.”
Without thinking, Odell sat on the ground. Like he had little to no control over his own actions. Gravity pulled him down. No, something stronger than that did.
“Oh,” the woman continued. “I guess you can call me Lucy.” She patted her suit down. “Now, can you mind explaining yourself to me if you don’t so mind?”
LUCY
Odell told her everything, no mental manipulation required. He seemed like he needed to vent anyhow, or else he would have exploded. Not that Lucy would have minded an explosion.
Odell seemed tired and exasperated when he talked, visibly sick of it, sick of himself. Nothing Lucy was new to. Most everyone in hell was sick in some way, shape, or form.
He spoke about the angels. He spoke about them with care, Lucy noticed. He told Lucy how he shot them with divine bullets. And how those bullets made immortal angels bleed.
“Where did you get these bullets?” asked Lucy.
“Same place I got everything else,” he added. “Bohemian Grove. From Mr. Morning.”
“Mr. Morning?” Lucy chuckled. The audacity, she thought. The idea itself was still so ridiculously absurd to her. Causing a massacre to prevent a massacre? The divine war of heaven, hell, and Earth would kill billions, sure. But only if Lucy would comply.
And she would never comply to that.
“Stand,” she told Odell. “Let’s go to this Bohemian Grove. I need to pay your Mr. Morning a visit, and maybe sue him for breaches in intellectual property.”
Then a stray warm wind blew her hair, off-place in the cold breeze of the night. “There is no need for that,” a familiar voice announced, as calm and as annoyingly soothing as she remembered. “I am right here.”
“Careful now. I’m oddly tempted to push you off this building, and there are no angels left to save you,” greeted Lucy.
“I wonder who tempts the great tempter,” the voice answered. “Of angels, there’s still you.”
Lucy turned to meet her half-brother. “You stole my name.”
“It’s my name too,” said Mr. Morning. He wore a black suit, almost identical to Lucy’s. That made her want to strangle him and remove his skin from his body, but she wasn’t in hell anymore. She couldn’t do those things here.
Mr. Morning walked closer to her, stopping a few feet away. His hair was cut short, clean, and sharp. He had no facial hair, making him look younger than his never-ending lifespan would dictate. “But you can call me Je—"
“You’re a comedian now too? That’s what your friends and followers call you,” replied Lucy. “Don’t start thinking that I’m either.”
“I don’t have delusions like that, no.”
Lucy raised two fingers, and poked Mr. Morning on the forehead. “But you have delusions, nonetheless.” She waved her hand, and a small table made of crystal, gold, and glass sprouted from the ground. On both of its ends, two chairs of similar material appeared. “Besides, there’s a sweetness in calling you by my name.”
“That’s too much,” said Mr. Morning. He made a fleeting gesture, and one of the chairs and half the table turned to a less elegant material. Stone. He sat.
Lucy sat across him. “So, what in the sneaky hell are you up to?”
“Exactly what he...” motioning to Odell, who sat attentively on the floor “...told you.”
“You’re a fool.”
Mr. Morning shrugged. “I always have been.”
“Why don’t you just talk to Him? You were always His favorite.”
“The bureaucracy in that is cripplingly infinite. No matter, you are destined to be the harbinger of darkness,” he said. “I must talk to you too.”
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. “The creative freedom of time is unspeakably corrupt and maliciously against me. You know it was never how it was written.” She smoothed her hand along the glass table’s surface. “You need my help.”
Mr. Morning stayed quiet, but eventually, he nodded. “We have to save the world, Lucy.”
She chuckled at that. “All the world hates a monster, even if all I ever did was fill a role.” She exhaled. “And all the world loves a man, even if all you ever did was deviate from the script.”
“And I’m deviating from it again.”
“No.” Lucy shook her head. “You’re rewriting it entirely.”
“And what if I am?” he said. “You and I both know that Father isn’t exactly the most charitable scriptwriter.”
“That,” Lucy agreed. “He isn’t.” They both let the silence between them settle. The cold wind of near dawn coursed through their suits. Odell sat by the side, silent as an estranged child. He was, don’t get it wrong. They all were.
Lucy spoke. “Do the ends justify the means?”
Mr. Morning moved his hand, and from the air came two glasses of water. He offered one to Lucy. She refused. He drank from his glass.
“The means have already been done. The die has been cast, and the end is near.” Mr. Morning stood from the table, laying his glass down. “We must enact the Gamma Clause. It’s the only way. The gates of heaven have closed, save for the one above us, but even then, it’s the Dragon’s Point. It’s not meant to open, not for me.”
“Dragons. Such grotesque creatures. That’s supposed to be me, right?” Lucy grinned, placing a leg on the table. “The Gamma Clause though… I haven’t heard that in forever. Not since—
“We must choose our champions,” said Mr. Morning. “One for each of us. I already have mine.” He looked at Odell.
“We’ve enacted the clause before,” Lucy said.
Mr. Morning replied, “But always in conflict.”
“Never in collaboration,” muttered Lucy. “One must go to heaven.”
“And one to hell,” replied Mr. Morning.
Lucy stood. “And how are we to open the Dragon’s Point?”
“We’ll need a key.”
“And where’s that?”
“On its way.”
HALI
Two more floors.
She couldn’t count how many steps she’s taken, but all she knew was that she had about four pumps of oxygen left in her lungs. One pump for each limb.
Her legs burned, and her feet swelled, but she had to barrel through the pain. She had to. She gripped Samson’s strand of hair in her right hand. It was San’s, and San would need it. She gripped it tight.
She heard the gun shot all the way from the streets, and saw how San teetered in the air like a wounded bird. How the crunch of tree branches sounded when San crashed. He gave her the hair strand then. ‘Protect it,” he said. ‘We’ll get through this night together.’
It wasn’t night anymore. Through the small window slits inside the fire exit staircase, Hali could see the faint bluish glow of the morning sun start to peek.
Last floor.
In front of Hali, a red metallic door blocked the path. The end of the staircase. She’s finally made it.
She pushed the lever through, and the door opened. Hali panted heavily, catching her breath. The floor pulled her in invitingly, and the next thing she knew, her cheeks were against the concrete.
She couldn’t feel her legs anymore, much less stand.
Her vision blurred, and her eyes had weights on top of them, dragging them to close. She was tired, far too tired. The floor gave her a comforting cold embrace.
But at the other end of the rooftop, ahead of a sitting man in a jacket who looked at her weirdly, and behind the two people standing on opposing sides of an oddly shaped table, an angel lay asleep.
Not asleep. No… no no no no no. No!
“NO!!” Hali rose, forgetting her fatigue. She sprinted to San and knelt beside him. “San, are you there?” She held his wing. Cold.
“San?” she repeated, her voice trembling. She didn’t want to think of what might have happened to him, of what did.
“He’s gone, kid.” A sharply dressed woman placed her foot on a glass chair. The woman eyed Hali loosely. “Oh, so that’s it.”
Hali placed her hand on San’s cheek. It was cold too. “San… p-please.” She tried holding her emotions back. To keep the at bay, contain them under her stomach, and not let them rise to the surface.
But a tear creeped up, and it crawled steadily across her cheek. No. No, she must be strong.
She wiped her lone tear. Threatening all the other tears back unless they want to face the same consequences.
A hand touched her back. It held the warmth of… of home. She felt stronger, somehow.
Hali turned to see a tidy man in a black suit.
“Child,” he said comfortingly. “Fear not, for he is at peace.” He smiled meekly. “Or at least he will be.”
“How did this happen?” Hali’s voice shook weakly. She stood, recognizing the man sitting on the ground as the same man San hauled to the sky. Rips and tatters set his clothes ragged. “You. You fought him?”
The man in the ripped jacket answered, “I killed him. Yes.” His face was stoic, and unmoving, as if killing was something so normal.
It’s not. Killing should never be normal. Never for Hali. She tried her best not to cry again, but she couldn’t. She lost her friend. One of the only people she could trust. Tears started flowing down her face.
“I’m sorry,” added the man in the ripped jacket.
San was gone. The thought of it penetrated her skull like a precise syringe. It burned.
She looked away, and back to her angel again, hoping against everything that he’d rise and fly and take her home. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen. His eyes remained closed.
She had to be strong. She had to stand on her own two feet. At least for now.
“I apologize if Odell here is a bit too forward. You want him back?” the sly woman asked.
Hali sniffed, wiping her tears away. She didn’t know how to answer that. Of course I do, she thought. But she didn’t trust the woman. She reeked of sinister things.
“Why did I even ask? Surely you want him back.”
The man in the suit spoke, “Do not play your games with her, Lucy.” He had a staunch, adamant voice.
“Don’t worry. I’m not, Mr. Morning,” the woman named Lucy smiled. She said that last word with blatant sarcasm. “If Odell is your champion.” She gestured to the man in the ripped jacket. “She’ll be mine.”
The man named Mr. Morning contemplated for a moment. He considered things that were unseen, like boulders dragged his shoulders in tow. Everyone’s eyes were on him. Hali didn’t know why she looked at him too, but she did.
“Very well,” he finally said.
Odell rose from the ground. “Wait,” he injected. “What is this even? What is this thing about champions? About that clause you kept on rambling about. I don’t feel too great about getting myself involved in more of this! Of more blood spilled!”
“The Gamma Clause,” started Mr. Morning. He uttered his words slowly and with great care. “Is a sacred provision. Allowed only for the most desperate of times.”
“Or the most exciting of times if you think about it,” contended Lucy.
Mr. Morning continued, “Our divinity is limiting—"
“Ironically so,” quipped Lucy. “That’s why when my half-brother over here went to this dump, he turned himself into a man first.” She shuddered.
“It was by necessity,” added Mr. Morning.
“See how our Father makes us jump through hoops? Like dogs,” chuckled Lucy. “Even then, you cheated on more than one occasion, much to His dismay.” She glanced at the sky. “Those ‘prophets’ couldn’t stop blabbering about it.”
Mr. Morning stared at Lucy. Hali wasn’t sure if he was angry or annoyed or interested or glad. On his face was not a flicker of the eyes or a twitch of the mouth. Nothing.
In response, Lucy shrugged. She walked away, to the ledge of the building, as she peered into the distance. The shy sun colored the sky a gloomy blue.
“The Gamma Clause is our way of circumventing our limitations. A loophole—”
Lucy whistled, “A loophole I created, by the way.”
“—that allows us to ingrain our divinity within your humanity. A way to change things, to divert…” Mr. Morning glanced at Lucy, who still had her back turned. Her feet stood at the very edge of the rooftop, an inch away from falling. “From the script.”
Lucy laughed heartily. “A REBELLION!” She turned, standing on nothing but air. She looked directly at Hali. “Are you in?”
Hali agreed without knowing what she’d gotten herself into. She half-regretted it now that she was thousands of feet high in the air.
Lucy carried her on one arm, as the angel’s black wings propelled them upwards.
Wind rushed against her skin, making her hair lash in all directions. She tried her best not to look down, but when she did, she lost all feeling in waist down. Air filled her ears, muffling any sense of hearing.
Then they stopped rising, and Hali could hear again.
“You’re cold as snow, kid. It’s fine, I got you,” Lucy reassured. Bold of her to try to give Hali confidence. All Hali did was nod and Lucy grabbed her and started flying, without a moment of hesitation.
Hali swallowed. She felt sick. She tried to swallow that feeling too. “You’re the devil, aren’t you?”
Lucy didn’t answer. “Did San tell you a lot about me?”
“Only that you were the best of them, and that you hated being called the devil.” Hali smiled.
“You’ve got spirit, kid. I like that,” smiled Lucy. “I’m going to need you to do something for me, okay? You still have that hair strand you’ve been grabbing on to?”
Hali gripped Samson’s hair tight, nodding.
“Good. In a bit, I’m gonna need you to punch the sky. Once you do, you’ll be someplace else. Somewhere you’ve never been before.”
“What will I do once I get there?”
“That part,” said Lucy. “You leave to me. You ready?”
“Mhm.”
Lucy let Hali go, and she started floating on her own, like gravity was nonexistent, and air itself let her be. It felt like swimming, but with less pressure and with more freedom. Beneath them, thick white clouds rolled thoughtlessly, blanketing the city below.
Hali breathed deeply. “You’re nicer than I thought you’d be.”
“Well, the world needs someone to blame, right?” she replied. “Whenever you’re ready, let’s crack heaven open and scatter its blessings.”
Hali balled up her fist. She remembered San and how he battled against the beast in the volcano.
She punched the sky.
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